Insignificant Things
by nigishikoi
Summary: One of seven billion others. Samantha Jane Witwicky's life in the whole spectrum of things was unsubstantial. Was, being the key word, since there was nothing 'trivial' about attracting the attention of a race of mechanical beings.       07 Film-based.
1. One of a million

**Insignificant Things**

Chapter One

One of a million

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><p>'The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.<br>We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.  
>The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.'<p>

H.P. Lovecraft

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><p>…<p>

…

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Incoming signal detected

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Initializing intercommunications link

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Link accessible:

Incoming notification received:

Autobot communications admission requested.

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Pending acceptance...

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Identity requested:

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Designation confirmed: Autobot Bumblebee, Special Operations Second Division

Communications link established:

…

…

_'Jazz, reconnaissance update, the location of Skyfire is still unconfirmed, suggested obstruction due to native dominant life form or post planet impact injury deactivation. There are no leads on Skyfire's primary mission objective either and the signals of the Allspark fragment continue to be too obscure to make out an accurate reading.'_

_'Ain't the kinda news I wanted Bee-bot. Any leads on native involvement?' _

_'I have avoided pursuing heavily military screened material due to high risk of detection, but have uncovered human activity found in local incident report files that match Skyfire's original distress signal location and time. Various possibilities have been narrowed down, but recently a single predecessor of the organic designation 'Witwicky' has uploaded data image packs with our language scripted on one specific item, no comprehension detected though. I will be reaching the human's location in a breem and will assess the situation there on.' _

_'Text decipherable?'_

_'It looked to be a location print, impossible to get a clear reading though.'_

_'Any updates on our planet side Con's?'_

_'Nothing new I'm afraid. Since first detection, Barricade and Frenzy have kept off radar range, but...' _

_ 'The chances of em' using dampener fields is pretty high. …Right Bee, keep up recon and I'll notify ya on our ETA.' _

_'Affirmative Jazz. Bumblebee out.' _

…

End communications link

…

…

…

* * *

><p>Sam liked to think of herself as unique. It was a preferable train of thought in comparison to the degrading downward spiral that began when she attempted to analyze herself along the terms that her so called peers enjoyed labeling her as. An only child to an average income earning family, Sam was of slightly below standard height, rather lanky in shape with a rather uninteresting color shade of brown for her hair and eyes, and in the end, she not much different to the thousands of other female teenagers across the world. Unique, was then beginning to look to be a completely inaccurate method of describing Sam.<p>

_'Perhaps odd is a better term to associate myself with,' _Sam mused brushing a strand of hair out of her face, tips of her fingers barely missing a pair of scissors that snipped close by.

"Whoa Sam. I'm trying to cut your hair here. Not your hand. Anyway, like I was just sayin-"

The brunette who was currently perched upon a flat stool, half listened her closest friend as he rambled on about the unnecessary needs of being involved in the young social lives of school and how being an outcast was an important place to view their _fellow man_.

Sam contemplated describing Miles as odd, her mind once again delving into the topic of social classifications and where her exact position was in that undefined hierarchy. The taller long haired blonde male definitely did not seem to mind being on the lower end of the food chain at school, choosing to do as he pleased. Sam at times wished she had that type of simplistic candor instead of concerning herself with certain outward behavioral appearances.

The regular rhythm of snipping filled the summer atmosphere and Sam tuned out of her High School related thoughts to consider something much more preferable. The girl's eyes flickered towards an old Chevy truck that lay parked further along the road and she internally sighed, '_It's just been delayed… calm down girl_.'

'Ack!'

Sam winced suddenly as Miles accidently yanked on her hair with more force than what he had been doing before.

"Oh opps, sorry!"

"Don't worry Miles," Sam chipped in, remembering to reframe from gripping her head due to the pair of scissors Miles waved around. Instead, the girl used the break to move her face away from the afternoon sun's glare, turning to look back towards the blonde's questionable backyard. That many doggie chew toys made her wonder if Miles just happened to spoil his dog more than her mother spoilt their family's Chihuahua. Although _tortured_ was Sam's preferred method of describing her mother's actions towards the poor animal.

"So is all the gum out?" she asked tearing her eyes away from a rather 'loved' pink teddy bear.

She felt Miles quickly sift through her now very short hair before replying.

"Looks like we're all sweet here. You know, that wasn't too different to when I was washing and trimming Mason's hair."

Sam pretended to look offended and huffed. "Thanks for relating cutting my hair to washing your dog Miles."

"No problem." Miles grinned, removing the face towel he had laid across her shoulders in mimicry to a hairdresser's action. "Man, you know your Mum's gonna freak right? And do you know how weird it is that your hairs' shorter than mine."

Sam waved of Miles worry, glancing shortly at her friends shoulder length hair.

"Miles, my hair was _always_ shorter than yours. Now, it's just… shorter-er. And all I have to tell Mum is that I got gum in my hair by accident so I cut it, she can't complain"

Actually there was no accident in the involvement of a particular chewable substance and her hair, and both Sam and Miles knew this. A certain_ someone _at her High School decided that Sam required a new hair accessory, but Sam knew her mother did not need to know that bit of detail. Even Miles knew how attentive her Mom was to her, lack of social ability and how because of said habit, often pushed her daughter to expand her group of friends, or friend. Considering her place in the popularity hierarchy made all of the above a little bit difficult and Sam would rather avoid giving her Mom more unnecessary headaches. The fact that Sam didn't want to be persuaded with additional attempts to _hang out_ more with other class mates was totally not the issue.

"Anyway," Sam continued as she yanked her jacket on, "I doubt ice or any gum removing method would have worked with how well Trent rubbed it into my hair."

Miles made a face at that. "Man that was nasty, but you know you really shouldn't have called him a jackass."

"But-"

"Don't mean you need to call one,"

Sam huffed. "Miles! Said _jackass_ shoves and locks you into lockers!"

With the towel restraint out of the way, the silently fuming girl had an easier time to feel and pet her own hair, getting a sense for its new length. It was definitely off her shoulders now, not that it ever reached the length of Mile's hair and was closer to her ears in length. That was just a little concerning, and Sam hoped she didn't take on the appearance of a boy. It was bad enough that she received mocking for her _lack of growth_ and choice of clothing.

Sam had thought today would be a good day considering she had finally reached her father's minimum cash quota for a car. Something she had been begging him for months. The last thing on his check list was an acceptable mark on her report which depended on an assignment she had done earlier that afternoon. Not that her class speech was horrid. Actually her teacher had both enjoyed and been looking forward to the report assignment, especially after receiving a detailed speech proposal via email describing Sam's great great grandfather's exploration and findings in the arctic. The proposal submission was unusual for Sam, but the girl had wanted to get the report just right. _Nothing_ was going to stop her from getting a car.

In the end, Sam could have kissed her teacher the instant she saw her mark and the moment the bell rang the short haired brunette flung herself out of the classroom, practically sprinting to the same place her father usually picked her up at. Whichever higher power ran the universe that day decided to end the girl's happy streak there and then.

Quite brilliantly in fact, since the moment she had turned a second corner in one of the school halls Sam had slammed face first into the bulking chest of Trent the High School's well recognized and loved top Jock, causing him to drop his own bag of personal school items all over the corridor. Things went downhill embarrassingly fast from there on.

"I'm surprised I still fit in those…"

"Miles!" Sam groaned.

"I'm serious! You'd think I would have grown over the ye-"

A high pitched sound tweeted out cutting all conversation.

Sam's short fuse spiked at the interruption and she fumbled with one of the pockets on her worn pants before flipping open her buzzing and ringing mobile, tucking it immediately to her ear.

"What do you want?" she growled.

Then she squeaked.

Miles peered at Sam questionably before he smirked at her sudden hectic apology aimed at her father on the other end of the line_. "Sorry Dad! Nonono! Of course I still want to buy my car today. Sorry. Sorry." _The teenage boy decided to give her some privacy and set to clean up the impromptu hair cut studio.

There was a moment of silence when Miles returned. Sam, who was still fixated on her mobile, was standing still with both hands grasping the phone to her ear. She broke the silence with a sudden squeal of uncontrolled happiness. Miles was reminded that her friend, although majority of the time an ambiguous geeky female, could still behave very much like the popular cheerleader, especially with her impressive vocal pitch range. He was brought out of his amused thinking when she slammed into him, a violent hug and tug at his limbs as she excitedly rambled her father's agreement to a certain car shopping that while initially would have been delayed due to a certain 'gum incident', was back on track.

"Miles! I'm getting my car today! Today! Oh my God! Today! YesYesYes! Remember! It's all about Freedom Miles! Get the Money. Get the Car. And Get the FREEDOM! The open road. FREEDOM MILES!"

Miles had a feeling his left ear would be ringing for a while after his friend left.

* * *

><p>Sam's enthusiasm had lowered considerably by the time her Father had picked her up from Miles's home and parked in front of a second hand car store, especially after a particular <em>prank<em> that he had pulled on the way. Thus, her current emotion wasn't a controlled excited anticipation anymore, but rather a horrified denial at the 'chop shop' that lay before her. As far as the hair incident went over, all Sam got from her father was a weary; _you're going to be explaining that to your Mother_. Then again, the older man had always been a lot more accepting of Sam's eccentric nature. Sam though, was still often thrown into the deep end with her father's _tastes_. Like the situation now.

Was it even legal to have a sign that states _finest quality_ before those… metal hunks?

"Dad?"

"Yes sweetie" Ron Witwicky wasn't known to be a man that successfully understood the females that lived under his roof, so he could be excused for misinterpreting his daughter's questioning tone.

"So… umm… Bolivia's Auto Sales huh?"

He could also be excused for not reading his daughter's badly concealed horrified facial expression since he was also concentrating on parking.

"It's great isn't it!" The man bolstered, clearly pleased with himself, "Although the cars are a bit old and worn, it's perfect for a first car! Trust me this is what having a first car is all about. Remember the-"

"B-but Dad!" Sam interrupted, she had to get her opinion in, "Will they even- I mean, _look_ at the state they're in! It's like these are the cars left over from 'Demolition Derby from Hell'. Come on Dad! I can't-"

"Samantha…" Her father finally turned her direction, lecturing tone mixed with an exasperated amusement, the car engine idling down before silencing as he slipped the key out. The adult waited with practiced patience for Sam's run away thoughts to calm down to a halt before continuing, "Now Samantha, it is your first car. Remember the Witwicky motto! 'No Sacrifice, No-"

"No Victory Dad… yeah I know." Sam took a deep breath, there was no point arguing now that her Dad was insistent on this particular store.

The Witwicky daughter let her Father walk on into the car yard before her as she snapped shut the car door and gazed from one end of the second hand store to the other.

'_More like fifth hand car store'_ the girl grumbled internally. Truthfully though, she was grateful. Her father had agreed to pay for half of her new car which was more than she had originally thought and she had already known that anything she was going to buy for that particular amount of money wasn't going to be brand new. But Sam had hoped for something a little better than what lay before her.

'_Is that car completely rusted through?'_ She thought in horror, eyes hooked on a once light blue jeep was stuck in between two other very questionable cars.

"So what do you think?"

Sam turned to face her Dad restraining any form of a snarky retort in front his extremely pleased mood.

"It's… uh… great."

"Then what are you waiting for! Go on. Pick your car."

Sam was ushered away as who she presumed was the owner of the second hand car store approached her father.

_Right, _Sam thought skimming through the selection of cars available. _Just pick a car Sam… hopefully one that will last longer than the drive home._

It could be said with much confidence that there had not ever been one car mechanic throughout the entire Witwicky bloodline. Doctors, Archeologists, Lecturers and Engineers, yes, but not one single descendant or blood relation had even labeled 'tinkering' with cars as a hobby. There was that one uncle on Sam's mother's side of the family, but he had married in and then out and the general consensus was that you didn't speak of him.

Of course Sam could separate the differences between Trent's Hummer and her father's car, car brands were easy enough, _as well as price tags_. She could clearly see if one engine was new and the other perhaps not so much, and make an educated guess that one engine had more cylinders or _something_ than another. But sadly that was the extent of her knowledge… regardless of what she said to others.

'_At least with new cars they label the features…'_ Sam moaned, passing a pickup truck and an old Toyota. _'…and in this situation I would at least be able to tell mangled car to car able to legally drive on the road without brea-'_

Sam paused.

_Oh hello…_

It was an old Camaro, of that Sam was certain. Approaching the car for a closer inspection she noted quite individual features, like black racing stripes and _was that a bumblebee hanging of the interior mirror? _Overall the yellow Camaro had definitely seen better days, but in comparison to many of the other cars in the store it stood out, not in a brilliant manner but in its old sports car design and faded coloring. It definitely wasn't as rusted through or dusty either.

Sam was hooked, good mood back with a vengeance and as she settled herself down in the driver's seat she explored the interior with enthusiasm. The girl was happily amused with finding out that it really was a small bumblebee air freshener ornament that hung by the rear view mirror stating the words 'BEE-OTCH' underneath.

It was only by accident though that she discovered another unique addition on the steering wheel of the Camaro. It was slightly dusted over but under closer inspection, that and Sam used her jacket sleeve to polish up the center of the wheel, revealed a deep red humanoid facial symbol. Well, that was the conclusion Sam came to as she ran her fingers over the decal.

_Well that's definitely not the Chevrolet symbol… _

So caught up with her examination of the car, Sam jerked when her father's voice rang through the air.

"Samantha! You picked something you liked?"

The brunette swung her head up and noted her father approaching with the owner.

"Y-yeah! This one Dad!"

The reply was barely out of her mouth when Sam's eyes were torn back down to the very _odd_ symbol.

_Definitely this one…_

* * *

><p>…<p>

…

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Dispatching message log:

Receiver: Autobot Bumblebee, Special Operations Second Division

Transmitter: Autobot Lieutenant Jazz, Special Operations Commander

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'_ETA: 3 Joors.'_

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…

…

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><p><strong>Author notes<strong>, aka: CRAP RAMBLING

Ahem… So… I'm giving the whole 'What if Sam was a female" a shot.

Also I've never written fanfiction, but here we are. _Gives me something else to do while I contemplate the argumentative topics of certain unnamed essays that need to be completed._

_Oh yeah… _So like… storyline will only _kinda_ follow film storyline. Ok? …ok…

I am going to try my hardest to keep Sam (Samantha's) behavior true to her male counterpart and hopefully stay as far away from her being an injected 'mary sue'. Which actually turned out to be harder than I first thought. Haha… damn I'm an idiot diving off the deep end here. Like okay, first wall in face moment: what is Sam's URGE (excuse) to buy a car. Cos unless I'm going to turn her into a lesbian with an unhealthy attraction to Mikaela (or other well endowed females) I had to come up with something else less male hormone driven.

SOOO Sam(ANTHA) is going to be as dorky as Sam, and as awkward, unorganized, geeky, scared… yeah… BEWARE.

**I apologize in advanced that this is not beta'd or checked over by eyes other than my own...**

Did you guys know that Mason is the actual name of the dog that played Miles's dog in the 07 film? ...just ya know... random unnecessary information.


	2. Subtle shifts

**Insignificant Things**

Chapter Two

Subtle shifts

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><p>'Despite semblance of solidity, social order is always vulnerable to disruptions. These disruptions are caused, among other things, by the intrusions of <em>other<em> realities.'

Peter L. Berger

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><p>It was a cause for celebration.<p>

Sam's car had _survived_ the drive home.

It was the day after the gum incident and more importantly, the day after she had finally gone out and bought a car. _Her car. _Being that it was a Saturday morning and thus not a school day, Sam had more than enough time to be additionally giddy that her car had not died on the way to Miles's place. Said elation in the cropped haired brunette was most likely due to the fact that she currently _owned_ a car, rather than said car surviving being driven. Although a mixture of both situations was also a warranted explanation.

"So?" Sam's gaze flickered between her closest friend and her car. "Come on Miles, what do you think?"

Miles, in his defense, did actually spend the past handful of seconds actually looking at the car before him rather than daydreaming, as he so often did. He had been expecting his friend's appearance that day since they had planned to hang out regardless if Sam had gotten her car or not. Both high school students had come to the silent agreement that there was to be no mention of a certain party at a certain lake that they were both clearly not invited to, even if the rest of the school had been.

Alright the last statement was an over exaggeration, but nevertheless… 'It was a _good_ agreement,' Miles stressed internally. He was secretly worried Sam would have wanted to _crash_ the party or worse _prank it_, in some sort of rebellious fit.

_'Are we like even allowed there? Cos… it's a private party… in a park…which we weren't invited to… but parks are public… but the party is private…,'_

"Miles…"

Oh yeah, back to the car.

"Kudos for getting a Camaro…" the blonde began slowly, stepping forward and poking his head though one of open side windows to get a better look at the interior, "but negative points for the questionable upholstery… man that better _not_ be leather…"

He pulled back out and began circling the vehicle.

"…and the dents,"

A long black indentation along the side of the Camaro was poked.

"…and the rusting…"

There was another break in speech as the blond made the final corner of the car and ended up back next to his less than impressed friend.

"_but_… bonus points for the custom paint job…"

Sam was beginning to imagine strangling the lanky boy as he gave another meticulous pause.

"Even though it's faded…"

Miles turned to finally face Sam, who wasn't looking at all pleased by his observation and opinion.

"You know what, maybe I shouldn't have asked."

"But ya did Sammie," Miles didn't hide his internal glee at the banter.

"Regretting it _trust _me,"

Not breaking a sweat the blonde threw in a question. "So how does it handle?"

"Wha? …Um," Torn away from acting upon her former malicious thoughts, Sam glanced back to her car thinking of the morning's drive. "Fine I guess, I mean it started up funny, but it comes with the car, right?"

Miles didn't look too convinced, "Yeah… maybe…"

Both teenagers stood before the car in a moment of silence, carefully taking in all the physical aspects. The morning sun did nothing to assist the appearance of the car, highlighting all the dents and scratches which would have otherwise gone on unnoticed.

Miles spoke first.

"Well you could have done worse…"

Sam narrowed her eyes yet again as she turned to face her friend, guessing where Miles was heading with the comment.

"…You could've gotten something pink."

* * *

><p>Far from the quiet reclusive city of Tranquility where one could actually <em>hear<em> the twittering of various birds in the near and far vicinity as well as the rustle of the thick lush vegetation being swept up by the constant breeze, Maggie Madsen was pitifully fighting off a growing migraine.

She wished the officials and analysts around her would keep their voices down, it was hard enough to concentrate with the multiple tapping originating from all the furious fingers typing against desktop keyboards. The constant messengers' stalking and hurrying around the room to provide constant situation reports didn't help either.

Truthfully the only problem Maggie was having with her current situation, _which shockingly wasn't the case that she had been called to work on a Saturday_, was instead the fact that _she_ could not recognize a certain signal code that flickered before her eyes. Maggie wasn't completely arrogant when she thought of the impossibilities of such a statement. There was a good reason the Pentagon had summoned her and her colleagues to the front, they were the top in signal analysis in the country, if not the world, and the young blonde Australian woman knew it.

And the fact that she could not even link or recognize _any _section of the signal code did not bode well with Maggie at all.

Far be it for her to complain being called in by the _Secretary of Defense_ to help crack an unknown code which had mercilessly torn through the military network, as well as the said assailant completely wiping out the U.S. SOCCENT Forward Operations Base in Qatar, but this was _ridiculous_.

Again and again, the short clip of a discordant static screech repeated itself. Flickering in a pattern that more closely resembled one of speech tone than anything a mechanical signal should be able to produce. All Maggie could do was sit and stare, raking both her brain and the programs available to her. But like the dozens of times before, nothing. She had no answer to what lay before her.

_'If the NSA cannot isolate the signals orientation, how much hope does the Directorate have that we will identify it?' _

The blonde's mind began to drift away, content to think of anything that didn't relate to what glared at her from the monitor screen. Her hands which had once been furiously typing across the keyboard fell abandoned to twirl, play and pull at her loose curly locks of hair. That or grip her forehead in frustration.

She couldn't stop the millions of thoughts that poured through her mind. Why had this happened? Who has the capabilities to do this? How did they do this? What were they using? Was America really being attacked? Who in their right minds – Did they even understand the consequences of such actions?

Maggie groaned, clenching her eyes shut.

Everything was happening too fast.

_Too fast._

But not fast enough.

She could see the dead end before her. The analysts around her wouldn't find anything new with the signal they had been given. It was too short of a sample. It was like only receiving the first lines of code for a new program which stated what it would do, but that was all you got. The explanation to how, wasn't there. Nothing.

It was more than just frightening.

If met in any other situation Maggie would have been overcome with amazement and delight to face such a new and highly efficient manner of crypto virology. It would have been a challenge Maggie would have loved to spend days, weeks and months on to dissect and understand.

_'Just imagine the complexity of interwoven programs that it would have taken to completely bypass all the military mainframes firewalls and security components in a matter of __**seconds**__…_

_Unheard of…_

_Absolutely impossible_

_No… was impossible,'_

Maggie had to yet _again_ correct herself. She was looking at the impossibility. Denial and disbelief would continue to wage war at her thoughts regardless though, because it _was impossible_.

The analyst to the blonde's right let out a pitiful whimper, dropping his head to the desk before his own flashing monitor. The same signal in useless repetition.

_'Yeah… I'm starting to rethink coming here too buddy.' _

* * *

><p>"So… what was ya mum's verdict?"<p>

"Huh?" There was a moment of bewilderment as Sam was thrown off by the sudden question. No surprise considering she was bent over a large plastic tub, elbow deep in soapy water assisting Miles in washing his monster of a dog: Mason.

"Oh… yeah… She had a cry."

"Ouch man" Miles was working on Mason's upper body, the dogs dopey and clearly pleased face right next to the blonde's own.

"It's only an inch or so shorter than before…" Sam whined, a hand unconsciously going back to her hair softly pulling at the ends that lay next to her ear. It was completely unfair that her mother had to bring up _gender insecurities_ in the conversation they had the night before. Her Father intelligently leaving the premises before his wife could pull him in to the 'question your sexuality cross fashion debate'.

Sam frowned at Mason's giant paw, which she had clutched in one of her hands in the middle attempting to rinse all the soap off the dog. A flicker of gratefulness at the foresight to eat lunch before washing the dog was drowned out along with the relaxing mood she was in, dropping down to annoyance and irritation at the former memory.

"She doesn't get it… It's not like I don't want to dress up all girly but sometimes… I'd just, like _not-_"

Both Sam and Miles jumped at a sudden static blast that came from the Camaro behind them. There was a quick tune and changing of radio channels before a female voice sang loudly into the air. The volume strikingly loud in comparison to the near silence Mile's front yard and suburb had provided them with.

"-_Don't hide yourself in regret! Just love yourself and you're set! I'm on the right track baby I was born this way!-_"

There was no movement from both teenagers as they stared gaping at the yellow vehicle. Sam, only slightly less shocked than Miles, thought it best to say something considering her car had behaved in a similar fashion on the drive to his house that morning. The brunette noted only after that she probably should have approached the _explanation_ more tactfully.

"Oh… uh… it does that…"

"_It does that?_"

Miles definitely didn't appreciate the non sequitur.

There was another moment of quiet as both teenagers just stared at the Camaro, the music continuously floating out of its speakers like it was always on.

"So… Lady Gaga huh…" Miles began, eyes not moving away from the yellow car.

"The lyrics to this one aren't as bad as her other songs,"

Of course that was the perfect opportunity for Miles to pitch in, with a horrendously out of tune vocal cord, "…_I wanna take a ride on your disco stick…_"

At least the uncomfortable atmosphere was gone.

"You frighten me Miles,"

"She frightens me Sam, _she_ frightens me,"

Sam simply snorted in reply and turned to grab a couple of the many towels lying around. It was time to dry Mason and she'd rather not bring up further '_negative points_' about her car, especially when she was growing quite attached to it _thank you very much_.

Miles didn't happen to catch the subtle attempt to steer the conversation away from discussing the Camaro's broken radio until he got a towel thrown at his face. He then spent the next couple of minutes unconsciously pulling Sam back to the giddy mood she was in that morning. Well… He didn't _mean_ for her to snort in held back laughter when Mason decided he'd had enough and wanted out. Which equaled to Miles being jumped on and over by a large shaggy, still half wet dog. "_Aw… come on man. I'm not the one who needed a bath._"

Honestly it was only because of her father's practical joke on her the day before that the next topic of debate caught her attention. It was a white Porsche parked up the road from the student duo, highlights of blue and red decorating its chassis and placing it further into a class of its own. Sam was not at all impressed by its appearance, _Damn rich bastard_…

Mile's who had been busy scrubbing away at his wet paw printed clothes with a clean towel, caught his friend's sudden narrowing glare and turned his head to find the cause. He froze when he spotted the streamline vehicle and out an impressed whistle.

Unlike Sam who only identified the sports vehicle into the class of Porsche and owned object of one with too much money, Miles could further place the car into the category of latest model of Porsche 911 which was additionally customized and _whoa_…

Sam broke her friends drooling admiration. "No Miles. No. See that is further an example of property owned by one with too much money and too much ego."

Miles not turning his eyes away from the very sexy car narrowed his brows in slight confusion, "Sam, I thought you _liked_ Porsches…"

"Well… yes. BUT… I don't _not_ like rich bastards, with more money than intellect showing off their cars in place of their metaphorically enlarged… ph-phallocentrism."

Miles had to turn to face Sam after _that_.

"Uh… still upset about Trent huh?"

The girl flushed, "Well, that and… My Dad's a cruel sadistic man…"

Miles tried not to grin; he wasn't new to Sam's father's particular brand of humor. "So… what did he do this time?"

Sam looked as if she wasn't going to say anything, but after some internal grumbling replied to Mile's inquiry. "The man thought it would be _utterly hilarious…_ to drive me to a Porsche Dealership when he knew that we were supposed to be heading to the location where I was getting my car. Of course while _coincidentally _speaking of a surprise… and slowing the damn car down…"

Miles instead of being sympathetic spluttered into uncontrolled laughter.

"MILES!"

"-s-sorry S-sam" he snorted again, entire body shaking as he imagined his friends father pulling said joke, "I c-can't believe y-yo"

"It's _not_ funny! That was completely cruel and unusual trickery-"

Miles wouldn't stop laughing, gripping his chest as he gasped for breathe.

"A P-Porsche. Oh my God. That's Karma. Karma rollin' right up the road."

"I swear to God Miles if you don't shut up-"

"-Karma in all its white and blue and red glory. Remind me to tell your Dad's he's awesome by the way."

Sam decided to reply to that retort by splashing some of the remaining Mason's bath water onto Miles. His retort was a high pitched shriek as he flinched backwards.

The brunette grinned, "That amazing Miles, you pull of prepubescent girl really _really_ well."

Miles just looked pitifully at his once again wet clothes.

Sam though was having none of that and let out a long stretch after she stood up. Washing Mason was clearly over and she yearned to move around. Noting where the sun was positioned in the sky gave the girl an approximate irking to the time as well as an idea to what she wanted to do next.

"Hurry up Miles. I ain't hanging around the vicinity of _that_ vehicle for any longer than necessary. The road's calling."

In the background the car radio continued to play on.

* * *

><p>Smokescreen mulled fruitlessly, repetitively pulling up various files in his processors which related to his units current situation. It was a task he had repeated countless of times even before his arrival to the organic based planet, unsettled by the rushed organization of the unit and its setting off. It couldn't be said that he didn't take chances but this was a highly precarious position that he'd rather not play at odds with.<p>

The situation wasn't promising either, but there wasn't much else that could be done except to wait for new information to make itself known or for the Decepticons to make their next move. The break in engagement while dull in its inactivity was highly infuriating.

Simply for the act of efficiency and speed Smokescreen wasn't above hacking into the human's global network, especially their more restricted files, he was confident in his ability to succeed where Blackout had failed but Jazz recommended otherwise. Concealment was priority and any sense of stealth would be obliterated the moment one of them attempted a breach of the human's military system.

'_And it wouldn't be the humans who note the break in first.' _Smokescreen thought darkly. '_Although…'_

Blackout's actions in the human military base, while unsettling in its reckless manner had informed the Autobots of various details which they had previously been unsure of. Such results were likely _not_ the intentions of the Decepticons, but you wouldn't find Smokescreen complaining about their carelessness.

One major point was the revelation that at least some humans did know something about Skyfire and the Allspark fragment. It was troubling, simply due to its implications and how it breached the units' original recommended action of approach.

_But… if these humans are not as unaware as we had first thought… _

It was troubling.

…And _aggravating_ since they couldn't check their network for confirmation.

So engrossed in his examination of potential advantage opportunities Smokescreen barely acknowledged Wheeljack's inquiring signal, the Autobot engineer entering into his immediate range; a human public parking area of a business registered building. _Wal-Mart_, informed the preliminary site scans which he quickly brushed over.

Not giving anything more than a short welcoming intonation to the others sub-processor as his greeting Smokescreen continued to assess and evaluate the situation before him. It was slightly odd behavior for him but easily excused.

'_Why couldn't Skyfire and the fragment have crashed landed into an inhabited rocky meteorite? The probability of that occurring was far more likely than ending up here on such a highly populated planet.'_

The tactician was brought out of his internal frustrations by Wheeljack, who had opened a request drop so that he could enter a private com channel. He accepted almost immediately and once in access quickly realized that it wouldn't simply be the two of them on the covert comline.

'_-amount of biological flora in the area alone.'_

'_Hound I don't care if this planet's got more organic slag on it then any other slagging planet, you're supposed to be watchin for Con's and there's something damn __**wrong **__if they're keepin this slagging quiet.'_

'_No need ta fritz there Brawn-'_

'_I do not believe Blackout was very quiet…'_

'_I wasn't asking for your opinion Bumblebee. Pit spawned Con's are up to something-'_

'_-when aren't they…'_

'_-and we should be out looking for them instead of laying low around that Witwicky organic like a bunch of sitting turbo foxes.'_

Wheeljack, now that Smokescreen was paying attention, was sending out pulses of light amusement. Far too high in frequency to catch the attention of any of the nearby humans but definitely within Smokescreen's range, especially considering he was 'parked' right next him. Smokescreen responded with a weary low frequency chain of tired exasperation, chances were this conversation was only going to deteriorate over time, if it hadn't already reached that level.

Actually now that he was paying further attention to their immediate surrounding he noticed that regardless of the impossibility of the humans being able to overhear their comline conversations and high frequency waves, the ones in close vicinity were paying them a high amount of attention. Nothing negative, but still something to be concerned about and Smokescreen was quite certain that it was not his own form that brought along this new scrutiny.

He decided to sound his observation to the engineer.

'_Wheeljack I'm concerned about the amount of attention your alt mode is receiving from the locals…'_

'_Heya Smokey, nice of ya to join in'_

'_Smokescreen are you even __**allowed**__ to say that, given what you are rolling around in'_

'_No need to be snarky there Bee'_

'_Bee-bot's just jealous'_

'_I can't believe we're seriously reduced to commenting on each others alt modes,'_

'_Don't worry Brawn, ya'll get your chance ta slag the Con's soon.'_

'_Regardless! Physical aspects and aesthetics should be the last things on our minds!'_

'_I'll remind you to suggest such ideals to Tracks next time he comes around.'_

'_Funny that you mention him and not some other self absorbent sociopath.' _

'_Smokescreen, have you __**only**__ been compiling tactics since we've arrived?' _

The bombardment of commentary from the comline caught Smokescreen off guard for a moment. He could feel Jazz's scandalous levels of glee throughout the chatter as well as Brawn's negative disposition and Hound's calming presence. He would admit the light humor was nice; it had been a while since he had been around such relaxed social behavior.

'_Smokescreen, why do you not research the human culture a bit more? It would explain their attention both of your choices of mode.'_

'_Yeah Smokey, we're gonna be layin low for the foreseeable future so relax while ya got the chance,'_

'_Like I tell First Aid about his obsession to be like Ratchet. Smokescreen, although you may enjoy emulating a certain officer, trust me when I say we only need one Prowl,' _

Jazz was cracking up with high hilarity now while Smokescreen seriously considered snapping open one of his side doors to hit Wheeljack for that comment. He barely registered Brawns, '_Primus… just the thought' _before replying to Bumblebee for his initial idea.

'_Thank you Bee, I do think I'll do that.' _

The unit's tactician divided his main attention elsewhere while the com line fell to background chatter. It couldn't hurt to expand his knowledge on the human culture especially if the only other current option of 'spending his time' would be to repeatedly recalculate tactics on their current situation. And while Smokescreen was a well respected and successful military strategist he wasn't as pedantic as Prowl. Not even close.

* * *

><p>Sam slammed open the doors to her home. She avoided using the kitchen entrance, instead taking the sliding living room door panels. Simple reason being that she was currently covered all varieties of dust and dirt, and was <em>considerate<em> enough to avoid plaguing the kitchen, where one prepared meals, with the grime.

The above was a lie. The only reason Sam went out of her way to enter her home from the backyard entrance was because she had just finished cleaning the spare garage, the spare garage which _she had not_ vandalized with mess and disorganization. Even if she had been the last one to go in there, she had simply been, "_putting the Great Archibald Witwicky's things away!" _

The garage had taken two hours to clean. Which meant that it was currently eight pm. All happiness from her joy ride with Miles over two hours ago was dead and gone. In addition she had to _microwave her dinner_. So because of all those highlighted points, the Witwicky daughter decided that it was completely appropriate for her to storm through the back door and shove a dusty piece of cardboard into her Father's face.

"I _told you_. What did I say? I **didn't** do it. But nooo… Of course I would be lying. I mean, why _wouldn't _I go and wreck havoc on the spare garage. I mean, whoa, what _fun_, bet all the kids these days do that. It's not like it couldn't have been a _**Raccoon**_!"

She waved the ragged evidence hysterically, three unusually long downwards streaks running across the bottom corner in a clear claw slashing mark. Ron Witwicky who had been intently watching television merely responded by softly pushing the obtrusive object out of his viewing range.

"_Dad_!"

Before Sam could continue her tirade she was silenced by her Father's next words.

"Not now Sam," They weren't spoken harshly but the tone froze the girl in their seriousness.

Her anger deflated like a pinned balloon, her Father was rarely one to pull such an expression or mood and Sam was uncertain as how to deal with it. Taking more intimate notice of her surroundings, she turned to see just what had taken her Father's attention. The tv depicted a uncommon but not unusual setting; a government official standing before a podium speaking out loud. Two men in uniform stood beside him.

Not one to wait and listen, Sam quickly blurted the first question that came to mind, "What happened?"

"Entire American military base was wiped out in Qatar."

That had the girls mind instantly reeling.

"_What?_ When?"

"Yesterday"

Her Father's replies were all clipped by that didn't stop Sam as she made to ask another question. She quickly held back though, as she was waved silent by her father's hand. He was completely focused on the television screen. At her second look at the screen, Sam noted what she missed the first time. The long draping material behind the man held the clear symbol for the Pentagon, on the podium hung another long piece of dark material with the Department of Defense logo proudly displayed. Sam also finally recognized who the speaker was; John Keller, the Secretary of Defense.

His voice rang out clearly in the silence of the Witwicky's living room.

"_At this time, we can't confirm whether there were any survivors. Our bases Worldwide are as of now a DEFCON 2, our highest readiness level. We are dealing with a very effective weapons system that we have not come across before. But our prayers are with the families of those brave men and woman who..._"

It was only after the report seemed to conclude, switching back to the channel's reporters who highlighted the shocking events that Sam finally decided to speak up again.

"Death Con?" she questioned slowly.

"Def-. D.E.F."

It was disturbing for Sam to see her Father's expression deepen further into such unknown seriousness, his eyes continued to drill into the screen. She couldn't see what was so worrying about the aggression of the military; it made sense to raise the response level after such a brutal attack. Sam didn't expect her Father to clarify any further and stilled suddenly when he continued.

"DEFCON. It stands for Defense Readiness Condition. They're at Level 2."

"The levels are various preparations that occur depending on the seriousness of the situation," He quickly added at Sam's further confusion. "Level 2 is war readiness. Think military behavior in the Cold War. Pray they don't go any lower."

Sam froze. _War _Readiness…The_** Cold War**__? _What on Earth- There was a _Lower level?_ The girl struggled to grasp the situation.

"Whoa wait… but he said it was already at the highest readiness level,"

Her Father's expression turned grim.

"I hope not… The next level is imminent nuclear war."

And sudden the scratched up cardboard in her hand wasn't very important at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Inane Rambling beginning in 3… 2… 1…<strong>

* * *

><p>So. Can anyone remember about over a year ago when North Korea <em>kinda<em> attacked and fired missiles at South Korea? And many civilians died? Right… well I was in South Korea at the time. And was living about 10 minutes away from the boarder (cos that's a goddamn smart idea…).

Shit… the instant helplessness of knowing you in target range and the inability to do anything about it… You can't explain that kind of terror.

**To summarize:**_ A DEFCON 2 IS A PRETTY BIG THING PEOPLE_

(To help understand better since I doubt any of us were _alive_ or able to fully comprehend the situation during The Cold War or the Soviet Missile Test in 1989. September 11th ranked a DEFCON 3)

I had to change the quote film phrase to DEFCON 2… since in the film they called it DEFCON delta, and that _doesn't exist._

FAIL.

(people should play more COD – they explain DEFCON there)

Right… Away from WAR discussion…

I would like to give a BIG** BIG** **THANK YOU** TO 'Wind of the Dawn' and 'Cheeky-Chick1only' FOR REVIEWING! Much love.

( _never thought I'd even get one review so : HAPPINESS FOR ME)_

Alas… if only I could reciprocate my thanks in more than just letters on a screen… Hope that the both of you enjoyed this chapter.


	3. Observation through Paranoia

**Insignificant Things**

Chapter Three

Observation through Paranoia

* * *

><p>'This crash is coming slowly.<p>

Move.

Or watch the slow death of your way of life

There's a science to fear.

It plagues my mind

And it keeps us right here'

The Temper Trap

* * *

><p>The dull drone of background chatter alongside the low lighting in the broad but narrow concrete room, held no appreciative value to a certain blonde signal analyst. Not highly surprising given that Maggie had been in the spare enclosed Pentagon chamber for over fifty hours now. Teams had been rotated to balance the daily required sleep ratio, but Maggie still felt horrendously groggy and silently prayed for a shower.<p>

The discernible signal continued to flash and repeat indefinitely on the screen before her and Maggie resigned herself to returning to her tedious task, tuning out her teams idle chatter. Not that she had been eavesdropping…

The Australian had been manually monitoring the current military audio frequency, an old method of signal filtering and more than likely a useless venture but Maggie really couldn't care because if the damn top analysis programs couldn't run a successful reverse optical character recognition on the electrical signal then there was no loss for her to do things her way.

It was probably due to the sudden mental lapse in concentration while prying on her partners' babbling that caused Maggie to notice the most discrete whispers of static chirps. She froze while snapping her hand to the side of the headphone that hung to her right ear, pressing it closer. Disbelief, fear, excitement flooded her. The whispering grew louder, it wasn't her imagination.

"_Do you hear that?_"

* * *

><p>"Come on Sam! Please! <em>Pretty<em> Please!"

Miles was begging now.

Sam huffed squeezing between her car and a dark green Jeep parked next to it. She consciously kept her distance from said vehicle, rather comfortable with the clean state of her jeans and thus made extra effort to avoid the twigs, leaves and mud that decorated it. Not an unusual sight for a car in the school parking lot, considering how it was that _teenagers_ owned majority of the vehicles on site.

"But Sam! It's _Transcendental Occult!"_

The brunette groaned in exasperation knocking her forehead against the Camaro's roof, her body leaning against the side while she stretched out her arms, fingers' sliding across the car's faded yellow paint.

When her moment ended Sam flipped her face up towards Miles, who was standing at the other side of the vehicle and put on her best unimpressed face. She spoke the next words slowly but firmly.

"Miles. You. Hate. Horror. Movies! No. I am not going to be sitting next to you when you end up screaming like a little girl,"

"Wha- I _do not_ scream like a little girl,"

"…can someone say _The Ring_?"

In all sense it was a normal Monday. The whole inner panic attack that Sam had been in on Saturday night had washed over. Yes, America was still in DEFCON 2, but nothing had changed in Sam's immediate surroundings that stated a difference to any other day.

Anti-climatic much? Sam truthfully didn't really know what to expect either. The world ending? Perhaps too morbid or dramatic…_ and_ unrealistic…

If she hadn't walked in on her Dad's abnormally high attentiveness to the news program Saturday night, she really wouldn't have known any better. Troubling, but in any case it was clearly another Monday in its dull complete repetitiveness of the hellish activity labeled _High School_.

"Wait… Miles, you never explained why you were let out early today."

Sam had to correct herself; it was the end of the unmentionable activity for the day, seeing that both Miles and she were currently debating over which film they should go watch, a debate which only occurred after a small _Miles_ _incident_. Honesty Sam really shouldn't have been surprised. Straight after her last class the girl had made her way to the parking lot, only to stop when she noticed Miles adamantly stuck …_ adamantly stuck through the window of her car_.

Normal greetings were bypassed for the awkwardness that ensured and Sam's carefully droned suggestion of, "_I think you need help."_ Followed by the spluttering reply of an explanation that Sam's would rather wipe from her brain.

Back to the present and Miles was currently looking uncomfortable.

"Oh… uh… Mrs Barrett broke down in class."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You know right, that thing that happened in the military? All over the news. Anyway, her son was… like in the army and…"

Miles trailed off, but he didn't have to finish. Sam knew.

"Right," she began, determined to erase the shadow that had dyed the conversation, "So… Transcendental Occult, you sure?"

Miles looked happy at the redirection, instantly springing back to a topic he knew far too well, "Yeah! I heard it's good! You gotta pay attention to the attacks, they all occur during the _witching hour_. …well that's what I heard,"

_The witching hour… which was a certain time of the day, night, 3am actually… where the realms of hell were more clearly connected with the current flow of the living. Where the strength of demons and misplaced souls rose, inciting them to use their abilities to torment those who had not passed._

Sam blamed Miles for knowing that, because she really didn't need to add to her already skewed imagination. His unhealthy obsession with anything supernatural had the girl slightly skeptical but if there was one thing being friends with a person over a long amount of time did, it was desensitize you to their _oddities_. Then again, Sam couldn't say much about her own quirks.

"Ok… fine. Horror movie it is, but you're buying the popcorn."

* * *

><p>'<em>Isolating the signal's origin isn't the issue right now. It has already been over a cycle since Frenzy's attack. That information is long redundant. Barricade is <em>_**still**__ off radar, a shock trooper off radar for this long leaves no good implications, temporary scout or not. Let alone the fact that we are still uncertain about the number of other Decepticons planet side!' _

Hound saw rather than felt Smokescreen's frustration. The tactician's alt mode, the perfect imitation of a Humans imported sports vehicle had taken a sharp left turn at a traffic intersection ahead. Due to his detached attention to the active comline the unnecessary squeal of traction on the asphalt surface brought the Autobot Tracker's focus temporarily back to the buzzing conversation.

'_We know as a symbiotic Frenzy needs a host and we know Soundwave isn't in the vicinity of this quadrant.' _

'_Small comfort…'_

Hound reflected while casting out short radar scans, it wasn't surprising that Smokescreen had run low on patience. The complexity of the situation that they were dealing with had magnified. It was a strategist's worst nightmare; incomplete information, expanding unknowns and unpredictable behavior. In addition Hound and more than likely all members of his unit could only be greatly relieved that the information which Wheeljack had recently retrieved had fallen into their hands before the Decepticons. Regardless that the legitimacy of that topic was still pending proof, the description of relief was a huge understatement given the severity of the subject matter.

'_No. Such ambitious and precarious actions, the Decepticons were clearly in a rush.'_

The results of the scan came up clear. Hound repeated his electromagnetic pulse. They were out of the suburban territory now.

Hound was really beginning to like this planet, the expanse of verdure and countless variety of organic life. It was a sad reminder of a long gone occupation but nevertheless Hound had let his curiosity run free. There was also his underlining concern that the longer they stayed on the carbon rich planet, the more disastrous the outcome.

'_**They know**__. There is no point slagging hiding!'_

'_You know we can't simply presume that!'_

'_Presume? Smokescreen did you not hear Jazz?'_

Again the results of the specific target-locating system returned empty. Again Hound continued his scanning. It was not a moment after he had received yet another clear reading that a private line requested his attention.

'_Hound, hows ya area?'_

Jazz wasted no time in formalities.

'_All clear.'_

Hound couldn't keep the infliction of disappointed away from his tone, nor the worry. He transferred his collected results to the Lieutenant, before speaking up again.

'_The validity of such results is still uncertain though, especially if you suspect Barricade of using transient absorbers.' _

'_It wouldn't be surprisin' Hound.'_

Hound noted that Jazz was careful with his phrasing, not atypical but alongside the Con's own odd behavior recently it made for an unsettling mix. Brawn's late statement rose to the tracker's thoughts, 'there's something damn _wrong _if they're keepin this slagging quiet.'

'_You know there ain't much ah' can do if that's the case. How's everyone else?'_

'_Not planning on asking over the shared com?' _There was a gleam of amusement.

'_Hate to interrupt Smokescreen's and Brawn's deeply profound interaction,'_ Jazz's frequency hummed in merriment at Hound own blended mirth.

'_Jack's been getting clear readings as well as Bee-bot.' _

'_So nothing new then,'_

'_The waitin' game gonna have to be played out a little longer,'_

Which wasn't a surprise, Hound concluded. There were only a limited amount of choices the Decepticons had at the moment, unless they decide to completely disregard protocol and expose themselves.

Jazz had notified the unit a nanoklick after the Decepticons second attempted to breach the humans' military network. A short message stating specifics; it was the POTUS mainframe located on the American's Head of government, commander-in-chief's aircraft which was attacked, the humans had reacted a few clicks after, cutting their network hard lines and it was the fragger Frenzy who hacked the lines. Unfortunately exactly what Frenzy had retrieved was unknown; he had ransacked hundreds of files, concentrating on anything relating to Skyfire, or as the humans had come to label him, Project Ice Man. _That_ had earned some interesting commentary.

Smokescreen had come to a stop, breaking next to the edge of the road overlooking one of Tranquility's scattered lakes. Hound bypassed the tactician and made his way further along the twisting path halting only once he was out of visual. Close enough to assist each other come any threatening encounter and far enough to deter any suspicious activity.

Adjusting his own electromagnetic spectrum to a far more effective concealment range Hound settled down for the long haul.

He only had to wait a cycle before the Decepticons acted.

* * *

><p>There was something about desolate underground car parks that set the perfect cliché scenario for upcoming dodgy events. Not that Miles was doing anything questionable. In actuality all that Miles was currently actively involved in was nothing more than sprawling across the hood of Sam's Camaro. Sam was AWHOL, or in other terms, upstairs in the cinema lobby using the female washroom facilities.<p>

The car park in question belonged to the cinema complex above, two floors above due to the owner of said vehicle Miles was resting on still preferred parking in lots practically empty, for fear of: _'I'm not scratching my car Miles.' _Which Miles had responded, _'Sam… your car is a huge scratch. I doubt one more will make any difference man.'_

Sam decided to ignore Miles and Miles let the girl do as she liked. She had agreed to his choice of movie and her parking preferences could be questioned later, m_uch later_, since Sam had also promised to drop him of at the local comic store on the way home.

The movie was _awesome_ as far as Miles was concerned; he happily replayed fresh scenes in his head of the film that had finished less than half an hour before. The blonde could also proudly state that he had not screamed once during the premiere, but merely responded in a fittingly manly way to the threats on the screen before him.

_Why was it that females in horror movies were always more sensitive to the supernatural? _

A sudden rumble of a small engine cut of any further pondering thoughts and Miles twisted from his position on the car to catch from the corner of his eye a female driver on a small light blue scooter. It was only after the driver had parked a couple of empty lots from the blonde teen and unfastened her helmet did he recognize her.

Mikaela Banes, Evil Jock concubine, Trent's girlfriend, fellow High School student and very attractive female with long flowing brunette locks, model like facial features… the body of a goddess. Miles decided it was probably a good idea to try to stop his heterosexuality from completely appreciating the opposite sex before he became like most males in their High School, and the World.

He began to roll off the Camaro in an attempt to discreetly slip away and locate his MIA friend. Miles decided he also had to stop playing first person shooters if he continued using military terminology to reference the behavior around him. He added attempting barrel rolls off cars to that list when he smacked hard into the pavement.

_Oh wow, that hurt._

"Hey, are you okay?"

Miles groaned, the knock to the head blackening his vision before increasing in pulsing pain filled throbs.

"Ugh…"

Right, so that wasn't the reply he had been trying to give. Miles then noticed that it was _Mikaela_ who was looking down at him with a mixture of slight concern and puzzlement on her face.

"Um. Miles, right? Are you-"

"Whoa! I mean, yeah! I'm cool. Awesome," Miles instantly flung up into a sitting position, and then regretted it as he gripped the side of his head, the throbbing of pain suddenly increasing. He groaned.

"You sure you're ok?"

Miles sure hoped he was; a concussion was seriously something he would prefer to avoid having.

"Y-Yeah! Just gimme a sec to, you know, stop the world from moving around."

Mikaela was hesitating, unsure as how to continue and so waited for the blonde to regain his momentum. She gave the car he had been laying on a look over.

"So, is this your car?"

Miles with his hands still gripping his head looked up at Mikaela then to the Camaro; _Jock Concubine was asking questions about cars?_ "Wha. No- No, its Sam's,"

Mikaela looked confused for a moment and Miles realized she didn't know who he was talking about. He wondered out of pure curiosity at how she had remembered his name. Then decided he probably wouldn't want to know.

"Sam. You know Sam right? Uh, Samantha Witwicky, she's been in like all of your classes since…"

He trailed of not getting any reaction or recognition from the girl, no, young woman in front of him. Miles swallowed and tried again, internally grimacing at the example he was planning on using.

"Trent put gum in her hair last Friday…"

Realization dawned on Mikaela features in addition to other expressions before she schooled them away; Miles thought he caught a flash of disapproval. _What?_

"Oh, of course, sorry, Samantha, she did that speech on her relative's travel in the Arctic Circle in Geology class," The brunette let out a soft sigh tucking loose hair behind her ear as her gaze fell back to Sam's car.

Miles decided it was probably a good idea to get to his feet; the pounding in his head had muted down. Truthfully the current situation was quite awkward, notwithstanding the hesitancy he had on how to behave in front of someone like Mikaela.

Mikaela who was looking to be in no rush to go anywhere, which brought up a question Miles was suddenly wondering about, "So… uh… with such a _small_ mode of transport, why didn't you park upstairs?"

"Avoiding Trent,"

Miles winced at the blunt sharp tone. _Oh… trouble in paradise._ He realized it explained that sudden look of contempt when he had brought up the jocks name before, or hopefully at least disappointed in his childish actions.

"Yeah, that dude probably couldn't fit his Hummer down here if he used a-"

There was a sudden squeal of tires that halted any further words of mock from Miles right before a deep and all encompassing roar of "_**Are you Samantha Jane Witwicky?**_" echoed around the parking facility.

Miles after jerking to the initial sound immediately noted that it came from the parking lot above them and the sound had filtered through the opening driveway connecting the two floors. The noise was followed by a lot of not very comforting crunching and groaning of metal.

Miles barely registered Mikaela rasp of '_What the hell is that?' _before the second _things_ of disturbance came tearing through the metal air conducts right above them. There was scarcely any sound of warning, the vents just briefly vibrating with the speedy scraping of pointed footsteps, before something horribly similar to the shrilling sound of a saw's high pitched blades hitting metal began and ended when two misshapen dark metal creatures fell from the ceiling right before the two teenagers.

Of course by this time Miles who had been unknowingly backing up had completely missed the fact that Sam's car had _changed_ until the back of his legs hit what was supposed to be a Camaro's front bumper but ended up being a rather large… foot?

Miles screamed.

* * *

><p><strong>WARNING. AUTHOR BABBLE:<strong>

* * *

><p>Ahem… yeah so…<p>

So a little different huh? I feel like I'm meshing up a little bit of everything here… uh… sorry? Timing is different too, I figured that since I've already played around with when the Autobots lands, other things will happen differently too. Butterfly effect and all that. (_Enjoyable film that… )_

Again I must thank **Wind of Dawn** for commenting again. Warm fuzzies I swear.

As well as **WarriorKat21**, **Matron** and **Blood Shifter**! Thank you so much! ...Its great to know my writing doesn't horrify everyone.

…yeah there's no film called _Transcendental Occult_. I just wanted to come up with something that sounded… uh… lame?

So who's gonna go watch Paranormal Activity 3? - I loved/hated playing Bloody Mary as a kid... nightmares and all that...


End file.
